


Echoes

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Missing Scene, Order 66 (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Before Obi-Wan leaves the Temple to confront Anakin a presence in the Force, small and afraid, holds him back.Spoilers for The Mandalorian Ep 13.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 482





	Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for The Mandalorian Ep 13.

The Temple is a silent tomb. 

  
A place that once thrummed with the heartbeats of thousands and sang with the brightness of their presence in the Force now lays quiet, blanketed by the eerie stillness of shock. It’s a gaping wound, a singularity on the horizon, absorbing everything in its path, drawing them all into the darkness. 

  
Obi-Wan needs to leave. There is little time to spare. He _must_ find Anakin. 

He can’t stay here. No matter how he aches with the urge to lay down beside his fallen brothers and sisters and join them in the Force. 

Duty must come first.

  
As he leaves Master Yoda for what he knows in his heart to be the last time, something stirs beneath the quagmire of pain that blankets the Force. 

  
A pull. It's fragile and small, but demanding his attention. 

  
He follows the gossamer thread weaving through the Force and tries to convince himself that every new horror he finds is no more devastating than the last. It gets harder the deeper into the Temple he ventures. For every Jedi he finds clutching their lightsaber even in death, there are a dozen more who have never embraced the life of a fighter - who knew only peace in life and who have been robbed of it in death.

  
He feels them in the Force, so many voices crying out in pain and confusion and so many more trying to reach for him and soothe his anguish. It doesn’t help. There’s too much noise, and it’s the _wrong kind._

  
At the foot of a grand set of stairs, Obi-Wan sees a sandy-haired child race past him, a cackle of glee bubbling from his smiling mouth as he runs, and Obi-Wan’s own voice, echoing with exasperation calling after him. “ _Anakin_!”

  
_“Sorry, Master!”_

  
The shadow of Anakin turns to him, his face open and young and full of mischief before he fades away with the ghosts already roaming the halls. 

  
He shakes himself. Anakin is not dead. He’s not dead, and he’s not beyond reach. That child, that bright-eyed, loving child is not gone. He can’t be. 

  
Force…

  
Yoda’s words echo in his mind, reminding him of his own part in this for thinking himself capable of training Anakin when the boy was so old and so afraid. He’s right, of course. It’s not foolishness or pride that has led to this moment, but fear. The memory of Obi-Wan’s own fear as a child, hearing those same condemnations directed at himself and knowing how achingly lonely it is to be cast out from everything you know. 

  
And Anakin’s fear. A fear that Obi-Wan has never been able to assuage, no matter how he has tried. 

  
The thread he is following tugs sharply under his ribs and pulls him with increasing haste towards the creche. He’s not sure he can endure the sight of any more younglings laying lifeless and broken on the floor of their home, but neither can he deny the urgency that is calling him onwards. There’s little time to spare if he’s to find Anakin before he can do any more harm, and even less before the Temple will be crawling with scavengers. 

  
Scavengers, and possibly more clones. He’s seen more than one body in blue and white armor and he grieves for them as he grieves for the Jedi. 

  
The creche doors are thrown open. Here, the number of fallen Jedi is high - so many knights and Masters, so many administrators and clerks, archivists and explorers, all making a last, desperate stand to protect the most precious and vulnerable.

  
For a moment, his vision greys over. He knows them. All of them. Most, he calls friends. 

  
Inside the creche, he keeps his head held high. Not for lack of care or respect for those who lay fallen, not for lack of love, but for the knowledge of how very little strength he has to spare. He cannot help them, and even the smallest of the dead will not begrudge him hoarding his endurance for the fight he knows is yet to come. 

  
At the back of the rooms he knows so well, both from his own youth and as a visitor, he sees immediately what has been drawing him here. 

  
A small hover-crib, its protective shell closed, lays under an overturned cot. It’s mostly hidden from view. Only someone who knows what they are looking for - or who has been called to its side - might spot it. 

  
Hope explodes in Obi-Wan’s heart as he reaches out gently within the Force and touches the faint lifeform hiding inside. A child. A _baby_. One so frightened and confused that it has drawn in on itself almost to the point of its presence fading from existence altogether. 

  
Hesitantly, Obi-Wan opens the crib. 

  
“Grogu!”

  
The tiny black-eyed baby blinks up at him in distress, whimpering and overwhelmed by the pain the Force vibrates with. His ears are downturned and his little hands are drawn up close to his face, hiding as best he can. 

  
Strangely, it is only now that the first of Obi-Wan’s tears start to fall. “Hello, little one,” he whispers, smiling as best he can even as his heart breaks anew. Here, in this very room, Anakin and Grogu once played. One of their favorite games was Anakin levitating the little one with the Force and flying him around in wild circles as the baby squealed in delight. They're the same age, Grogu and Anakin. The same age, and yet...

  
Grogu slowly lowers his hands, blinking again before reaching towards Obi-Wan. Like so many young ones, he is drawn to sadness with the innocent need to comfort. 

  
Obi-Wan reaches back and touches the tip of his finger to Grogu’s outstretched hand. He finds the light inside himself and lets it wash over the last, precious youngling of the Jedi Temple, soothing his fear and confusion in the way only a Jedi Master can. The young ones all look to Obi-Wan and his peers for protection and safety, and they trust their elders to provide it. 

  
Did. They did…

  
Grogu coos quietly.

  
A warning ripples through the Force, drawing Obi-Wan away sharply. 

  
They’re out of time. 

  
Gently, he eases Grogu back down into the crib. “Be brave, little one, and may the Force be with you.” The crib’s protective shell closes on the child’s trusting face, leaving Obi-Wan alone once more. 

  
There’s no guarantee Master Yoda will survive his fight with Palpatine. 

  
And there are likely no other Jedi on Coruscant left alive. 

  
The only chance Obi-Wan has of keeping the little one safe is to give him to someone with the reach and contacts needed to ensure he disappears far, far away from the reach of the Sith. 

  
He’ll take Grogu to Dex. 

  
Dex will hide him. Dex will keep him safe. And Dex will make sure that no one - not the Sith, not the Senate, not Obi-Wan himself, will be able to place the child in danger again. 


End file.
